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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199274">Pietas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumBlueFlower/pseuds/PlumBlueFlower'>PlumBlueFlower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>100 percent sanity back guarantee, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Begging, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Body Dysphoria, Body Paint, Boys Kissing, Cute, Dom/sub, Dominant Enjolras, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Foot Fetish, Happy Ending, Humiliation, I'm actually pretty good at this so you should read, Kissing, Kneeling, Latin, Light Bondage, Literary References &amp; Allusions, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painting, Praise Kink, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Sexual Roleplay, Submissive Grantaire, The Aeneid References, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character, Verbal Humiliation, just a bit, only a little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:15:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumBlueFlower/pseuds/PlumBlueFlower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire worships his Apollo.</p><p>Dom Transjolras x Subtaire smut! Again!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pietas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I can't believe my AP Latin essay inspired a fic but here we are. </p><p>Please comment, kudoes, and share! I live on attention and I love talking to readers!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Grantaire sat on the old sheets, spattered with long-dried paint.  He could feel the wooden floorboards under him and shifted himself carefully to reach the further corner of the canvas. He wiped at his brow and cringed lightly as he felt wet paint touch his forehead. He huffed in mild frustration but elected to wash it off later. Anyways, he was so, as they say, ‘homely’, that a slash of viridian would not degrade him any further. </p><p>He looked over the finished painting with pride, an idyllic scene of a forest creek, sunlight skipping across stones veiled in moss. There was a little toad at back, Grantaire’s manifestation. Grantaire supposed that Enjolras was present in the art as well, in the skillful swirls of the water, the shining gold of the autumn leaves. He was the beauty in it, the soft glow that elevated it above any old print. Grantaire had often told the man this, much to Enjolras’ shy appreciation. </p><p>He stood up gingerly, feet tingling after sitting cross-legged on the floor for so long. He stretched his muscles with the accustomed grace of a gymnast and almost purred at the relaxing sensation. As he began to set his apartment’s living room back to a less ‘artsy’ state, Grantaire caught sight of a roll of gold foil and wire. He swiped the items from under an unassuming rag and dug through his memory to recall why he possessed such mediums. After a bit of thinking (why yes, Enjolras, he was indeed capable of thought), Grantaire remembered that he had been asked to make a wreath for Madame Bernard last Christmas. Those must have been the remnants of the supplies from then, Grantaire deduced.  He held the foil up to the fading evening sunlight, the minute creases glinting almost white, shimmering ethereally.  The wire was looped thrice in a coil, perhaps the circumference of a man’s head. </p><p>Grantaire grinned at the idea popping into his head, already imagining the look on Enjolras’ face. He sat at the table and spread the thin sheet of foil over the surface. Taking a knife in his hand, he pulled the foil taut with two fingers and began to run the sharp edge over the gold, a light crackling sound accompanying his incisions. He swirled the knife around to carve the outline of a laurel leaf in the foil. He repeated the motions until the sheet was pared down to a flurry of golden leaves. Satisfied with his work, Grantaire turned his attentions to the wire. He unfurled the coil and cut it into three strings with a set of pliers, and braided the strands together, deep copper glinting in the curved folds. He carefully twisted the ends to each other, forming a crown-sized hoop in his grip. Slipping the tapered edges of the leaves through the crevices of the wreath, Grantaire soon found himself with a replica of Apollo’s laurel wreath and a sense of cheerful excitement. </p><p>A knock came at the door, efficiently sharp. Grantaire ran to his bedroom and set the crown aside, coming to answer the door. He opened it to reveal Enjolras, stern features softened with a hint of a smile. </p><p>“Hello, R,” Enjolras greeted, “I was wondering--”</p><p>“Shush!” Grantaire cut in, lightly dragged his lover (oh, that word was positively ecstatic!) into the apartment, “I have been struck by artistic inspiration and I ask that you let it run its course.”</p><p>“Alright, alright,” Enjolras laughed, “As you wish.”</p><p>Grantaire nodded with a bright smile and brought Enjolras into the living room. He let go of the man’s arm and tossed him a French flag. </p><p>“Would you mind draping yourself with this, you know, like a tunic?” Grantaire requested quickly, darting back to his bedroom to retrieve the pièce de résistance. He came back to see Enjolras clad in nothing but the flag, draped over his limbs with billowing elegance. </p><p>“You didn’t have to remove your clothes,” Grantaire croaked, almost completely overcome with adoration.</p><p>“I wanted to see that look on your face,” Enjolras explained plainly, with a rather devilish grin for a god.</p><p>“Oh, you absolute tease!” Grantaire chided, face flushed to match the now-dried paint on his brow. He shuffled forward with the wreath and placed it atop Enjolras’ head, the gold shining in the flaxen curls. Taking a few steps back, Grantaire drank in the view. Enjolras had assumed a powerful pose like that of an old statue, muscles flexed against the ‘tunic’. The candlelight reflected off his chiseled features and Grantaire could have sworn his heart had leapt right out of his chest and prostrated itself at Enjolras’ feet. He sighed in content awe and another idea roused him from his worshipful stupor. He swiped a tube of golden paint that lay next to a copy of the Aeneid and poured the liquid onto a spare palette. </p><p>“May I,” Grantaire started shyly, “You know, paint you?”</p><p>“Of course,” Enjolras agreed, “You need not ask permission for that.”</p><p>“No, I meant,” Grantaire hesitated once again, heat flowing through his veins, “May I paint on you?”</p><p>“Oh,” Enjolras acknowledged, “That sounds wonderfully intriguing. I will gladly be your canvas, darling artist.”</p><p>Enjolras shifted slightly to let the draped flag reveal more of his skin and Grantaire could not restrain a low groan at the display. He approached Enjolras almost tentatively, clasping the palette in his hand and swirling the paintbrush in the molten gold hue, very aptly labeled Apollo’s Tears, by the manufacturers. He brought the brush to Enjolras’ cheekbone, painting it a shimmering gold. Just above his brow, Grantaire adorned Enjorlas’ marble skin with elegant leaves. He trailed down Enjolras’ face, accentuating his sharp jawline with another streak and outlining the contours of his neck and collarbone. The wet brush slid against the curve of Enjolras’ right bicep, leaving a sparkling shadow against the pale bulge of his lithe muscle. Enjolras shuddered at the cold sensation of paint drying on his skin followed by the warmth of Grantaire’s lips just above the paint. </p><p>Grantaire gently held Enjolras’ left wrist in his hand, painting swirls all over his forearm. Grantaire thought it looked rather like the avant-bras piece of an armor set. Perhaps Apollo had worn a set of them into battle so long ago.  Grantaire turned his attention to Enjolras’ torso, split diagonally between the folds of the flag and bare skin. He skipped over the binds on Enjolras’ chest without comment and turned his attention to the revolutionary’s toned abs. Grantaire drew flowers erupting from the edge of the cloth and spread them all over the exposed skin of his torso. </p><p>“My darling Apollo,” Grantaire requested, dissolving the steaming silence of the room, “Would you please take a seat at your throne? It’s a bit hard to paint your legs when you are standing, and I would like to attend to them as well.”</p><p> </p><p>The artist rushed over to drape a protective cloth over the armchair and gestured for Enjolras to sit with a bow. Enjolras took a seat with regal grace and looked to Grantaire for approval. The artist nodded dumbly and dropped to his knees. He gingerly lifted Enjolras’ foot into his lap and began to adorn it with flowers and little rays of sunlight. He left the other foot bare but decided to adorn the calf instead. Finished with his design, he gently brought Enjolras’ feet down to the floor. He looked up from his kneeling position, fighting the urge to close his eyes at the sheer incandescence Enjolras seemed to exude. Grantaire could have sworn the laurel wreath was glowing, but he supposed it was just the lines between fantasy and reality blurring with the overwhelming sense of adoration. </p><p>“I fear we must wait a few minutes for the paint to dry,” Enjolras mused, “I would not want to ruin your handiwork, which by the way, looks exquisite. Truly, your artistry amazes me.”</p><p>“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Grantaire offered, “It might take a while for it to dry enough to withstand other activities.”</p><p>Grantaire licked his lips at those last two words and Enjolras tilted his chin up with a sinfully angelic smile.  </p><p>“Other activities?” he laughed, “Someone has eager expectations for tonight.”</p><p>“I pray that my god would bless this mere mortal with the fulfillment of those,” Grantaire’s voice caught slightly in the midst of his supplication, “expectations.”</p><p>“I am certain no god would refuse such a faithful believer,” Enjolras replied, eyes warm with tender fondness, “If you would not mind, I’d like to drink something. My throat’s become rather parched.” </p><p>“Of course, I’ll make some tea,” Grantaire agreed, though his voice was choked, “I’ll also bring the financiers Granny Martin from across the street baked."</p><p>The artist scurried off to the kitchen, darting behind the door with a little squeak. Enjolras chuckled slightly, having noticed the rather shameless hard-on Grantaire was sporting. Devious gears turned in Enjolras' mind and he tossed his head back lightly.</p><p>Grantaire was just about as flustered as Enjolras was composed, which is to say his mind had turnt to airy cotton at the mere sight of his dear Apollo adorned in such a way. He could barely manage to put the kettle on, before sagging against the wall in breathless desire. His cock strained against the fabric of his pants. He palmed himself greedily, barely stifling his groans over the steady hiss of the kettle. He knew that Enjolras’ would surely discipline him for his lack of restraint but he could not help himself after seeing him in such an unearthly divinity. </p><p>Enjolras was very much aware of Grantaire’s current transgressions. What ‘god of prophecy’ would not have the foresight to anticipate such a thing? Enjolras stood up quietly, creeping towards the kitchen with silent footsteps. As he turned the corner, he was met with the sight of Grantaire, shamelessly taking himself in hand, the now-lukewarm tea sitting forlornly on the table along with a plate of the cakes. Enjolras backed the artist against the wall, caging him in with a sultry fury. Grantaire locked eyes with Enjolras and released his grip, </p><p>“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed, “I--”</p><p>“R, just what do you think you’re doing?” Enjolras inquired, whispering right next to Grantaire’s red-tipped ear, “I don’t remember giving you permission to pleasure yourself.”</p><p>“Have mercy on this pathetic mortal, my lord,” Grantaire pleaded, voice high with a needy whine, “How can I possibly restrain myself in front of you, darling Apollo? You must have put me in some sort of trance. My heart’s beating faster, my blood is rushing, I--”</p><p>“Hush, little one,” Enjolras cooed, though the irony of his height compared to Grantaire’s was lost on the both of them, “I know you are far too pathetic to control yourself, that’s why I do it for you, right?”</p><p>“Of course, my lord,” Grantaire assented, voice drawing into a hiss as Enjolras slid his hands up his shirt and twisted his nipple, “I am lost without you, please guide me to salvation, I beg of you.”</p><p>Enjolras growled and pulled Grantaire by the hair, forcing him to sit at the old dining chair next to the table. He untied the red scarf around Grantaire’s neck and forced his hands to the back of the chair. Grantaire spread his legs instinctively and the Enjolras the most sinful come-hither gaze he could muster. He was completely unprepared for Enjolras to lift himself onto the table and rest his unpainted foot over Grantaire’s leaking cock. The artist let out a whimper of pain-pleasure as Enjolras shifted his weight, a sadistic glint in his eyes. Enjolras took a light sip of the tea, wrinkling his brow at the sharp taste.</p><p>“You’ve steeped it far too long,” Enjolras chided giving Grantaire a light smack on the cheeks, “What are we supposed to do with it now?”</p><p>“This servant apologizes profusely,” Grantaire demurred, blushing at his mistake, “How may I make it up to you, my lord?”</p><p>“Fear not, believer,” Enjolras dismissed, grin growing darker by the second, “I know exactly how to make use of this situation. Now, be a good slave for me and I might deign to bless you with a  reward.”</p><p>“I will do anything you ask, beautiful Apollo,” Grantaire vowed, “Though, you have already blessed me with your presence. Serving you is a reward in itself, my lord.”</p><p>“You speak so eloquently,” Enjolras mused, “But I’ll render you incoherent in no time. Now open your mouth, tilt your chin up, and don’t you dare spill a drop.”</p><p>Grantaire did as he was ordered and Enjolras took a swig of the tea, his saliva mingling with the dark liquid. He leaned over Grantaire and parted his lips slightly, dripping the tea into Grantaire's open mouth. The artist groaned at the sensation, almost tasting the hints of his god’s lips in the bitter tea. His cock twitched against Enjolras’ foot and the man only pressed harder, rubbing his sole against Grantaire’s shaft. </p><p>“Very good,” Enjolras offered patronizingly, “Again.”</p><p>Enjolras leaned even closer, letting the liquid flood into Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire relaxed his throat to accommodate the flood, urging every muscle in his throat not to gag. A droplet escaped from the corner of his lips, but Enjolras sucked it away in a kiss. Grantaire whined as Enjolras continued his tortuous stimulation, cock leaking pitifully onto his Apollo’s marble foot.</p><p>“Please, my lord,” Grantaire pleaded, “Please let your worthless slave have release. I feel as if I might go over with every stray touch, please have mercy!”</p><p>“Once more and I’ll give you your reward,” Enjolras purred, “Will you suffer just a little while longer for me?”</p><p>“I would rot in Tartarus for all eternity,” Grantaire replied breathlessly, “if it would please you, Apollo.”</p><p>He opened his mouth for Enjolras once again, and the revolutionary took the last of the tea in his mouth. Enjolras claimed the mans’ lips in a kiss, letting the liquid spill into his mouth all at once. Grantaire moaned at the lips claiming his own and swallowed dutifully, letting Enjolras’s eager tongue explore his mouth. After a little eternity, they broke apart for air. Enjolras lifted his foot away, Grantaire’s precum glistening against his skin. He silently lifted it to Grantaire’s lips, who mindlessly lapped away at the fluid, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over his skin. He took care not to disturb the golden swirls on his calf, restraining his worship to just below the ankle. </p><p>“Thank you for this reward, my lord,” Grantaire breathed, pupils blown wide with lustful adoration, “I do not deserve such a blessing from you.”</p><p>“You deserve everything I give you Grantaire,” Enjolras scolded as he slid off the table, the flag billowing with the motion, “And that was not your reward, little one.”</p><p>Grantaire sputtered wildly as Enjolras dropped to his knees, sitting in between Grantaire’s spread legs. He cupped Grantaire’s balls and fondled them in affectionate curiosity. </p><p>“Apollo, what are you doing? You can’t--”</p><p>Enjorlas frowned and squeezed Grantaire’s flesh, eliciting a whine from the man.</p><p>“Do you have any right to dictate what I do?” Enjolras hissed, tightening his grip viciously. </p><p>“N-no, of course not, m-my lord,” Grantaire stammered, the pain going straight to his already burning arousal, “This pathetic slave apologizes for his insolence. Please, my lord, I didn't mean to insinuate that you have anything less than full reign over me, please, I’m sorry, my lord!”</p><p>Enjolras let go of Grantaire, running his fingers over the abused flesh. He mewled at the gentle touch and Enjolras laughed at his sensitive response.</p><p>“You will not cum until I say you can,” Enjolras ordered, “Do you understand me?”</p><p>“Loud and clear, my lord,” Grantaire assented, “I would never disobey your command, beautiful Apollo.”</p><p>Enjolras brought his lips to Grantaire’s head, tongue running over the slit. Grantaire yelped at the stimulation, unable to form words at the act. </p><p>“You taste like ambrosia,” Enjolras moaned, suckling at the tip, “So beautiful for me.”</p><p>Enjolras opened his mouth wider and eased Grantaire’s cock into his throat, swallowing steadily to take it to the hilt. Grantaire groaned at the tight, wet heat, rigid with pleasure. He began to move up and down, the slick sounds of his mouth against the flesh accompanying Grantaire’s wanton cries. Enjolras hummed in contentment and the vibrations sent an ecstatic heat throughout Grantaire’s body. Grantaire longed to thank his god for the honor, but all he could do was moan incoherently.<br/>“You are such a faithful sacrifice,” Enjolras continued, smirking at Grantaire’s inability to speak, “suffering so prettily for me. I treasure your submission more than any jewel in the world.”</p><p>“Th-thank you, my lord,” Grantaire stammered, “I live to s-serve you, to p-please you and only you. You own me entirely, dearest Apollo.”</p><p>Enjolras smiled at the declaration and increased his pace, drawing an ecstatic moan from Grantaire’s lips. Soon enough, Grantaire was consumed with the need for release and he writhed in his bonds.</p><p>“My lord, please, let me cum,” he pleaded, “Your mouth feels so good on me, I can barely restrain myself. Please, I beseech you to grant your believer absolution. Apollo, please, please, spare me. Your worthless slave begs you for release. Please, my lord.”</p><p>“Cum for me,” Enjolras ordered, granting his prayer. Grantaire let out a sob of pleasure as he chased his release, spilling into Enjolras’s mouth, who eagerly swallowed, savoring the warm cum running down his throat. He pulled off smoothly and stood up, taking a seat on Grantaire’s lap. He murmured tender praise into his ear as he reached over to the back of the chair to untie the submissive’s hands. Enjolras took them into his own, gently massaging them to urge the blood flow. </p><p>“Thank you, my lord,” Grantaire whispered with fervent devotion, “Thank you for giving me that, thank you.”</p><p>“Anything for you, faithful one,” Enjolras, “Would you like to take a bath now?” </p><p>“Please let me bathe you, Apollo,” Grantaire chirped, eyes shining with adoring excitement, “Please, please, I’ll be so good for you. Please let this pathetic slave have the honor of serving you in such a way, please.”</p><p>“Of course you may, darling boy” Enjolras cooed, helping him up and leading him to the bathroom. When they reached the room, Enjolras peeled away the flag and folded it while Grantaire warmed the buckets of water in the furnace. As Grantaire poured the water into the bathtub, Enjolras meticulously removed his bindings, twisting away the gauze with reluctant precision. They entered the bath together, the water surrounding them with comforting warmth. Enjolras lay his head over Grantaire’s chest. The water shimmered with a hint of gold as the paint dissolved from Enjolras’ skin. </p><p>“Thank you for letting me submit to you,” Grantaire started, “I know that you were uneasy with it at first, because, well, it just turns all your talk about equality on its head. But you still do it.”</p><p>“This is no obligation for me,” Enjolras denied, “I deeply enjoy and admire your submission to me, and more importantly, the trust you have in me.”</p><p>“I trust you with my everything, my lord,” Grantaire promised, “I believe in you, my lord, even if I seldom believe in anything at all. I worship the ground you walk on, you know that?”</p><p>“I know and I am honored to be the object of your worship,” Enjolras whispered, kissing Grantaire chastely, “And I love you just as deeply, my little believer.”</p><p>“Shall we rise now?” Grantaire offered, “I would not want my darling Apollo to catch a cold.”</p><p>“I think you’re right,” Enjolras agreed, and the couple stood up in the tub. Grantaire climbed out to retrieve the towels he had left to warm above the furnace and helped Enjolras out. He ran the fluffy fabric all over his lover, kissing every inch of his skin. After drying himself, Grantaire reached for the two sets of nightclothes in the cupboard and tossed one to Enjolras. </p><p>Enjolras caught the garment but frowned at the odd sensation of his bare chest. The gauze had gone wet with the steam and he had not brought any extra. He felt a terrible sense of shame rising in his chest, the terrible feeling of plain incorrectness. His thoughts were interrupted as Grantaire pressed a fresh roll of gauze into Enjolras’ palm. They did not exchange a word, Granite simply smiling and shifting his gaze way out of respect. The dread in Enjolras’ heart gave way to a warm, bubbling comfort as he wrapped his chest in gauze. Grantaire took his hand and they headed to Grantaire’s bedroom. With practiced ease, they slipped under the covers, Grantaire facing the window and Enjorlas embracing him from the back.</p><p>The air grew weighted with peaceful adoration, and Grantaire purred at the warmth of Enjolras’ skin humming through the thin cloth of the nightshirt. Grantaire prayed earnestly for once that he might accompany Enjolras forever, as futile as the thought was. A familiar trepidation seizing his body. Grantaire had tried as much to force the fear to the back of his head, not stifle it so that he would not bother Enjolras.</p><p>He did not deserve to burden Enjolras with his own problems. Grantaire was lucky enough to be allowed in his presence and knew that it was his duty to serve him and give him all the pleasure and worship he deserved. When Enjolras tired of him, Grantaire knew he would simply surrender, grateful to have pleased him for just a moment in life. Enjolras was worth far more than him. He was going to change the world with that power, even Grantaire knew that with all his nihilistic retorts at the meetings. It was only a matter of time before Grantaire would be thrown away in favor of Enjolras’ mission.</p><p>However, along with all his other flaws, Grantaire was selfish. Selfish enough to ask Enjolras about the future, to burden him with his worthless thoughts. </p><p>“You know how I often call you Apollo?” Grantaire started, shifting in Enjolras’ arms to face him. </p><p>“I am well aware of that, little Hyacinth,” Enjorlas replied, pridefully smirking at his mythological allusion. Grantaire flushed at the name and almost completely forgot what he had meant to say. Of course, the gentle haze of endearment cleared to reveal the pit of dread once again.</p><p>“Well, in a passing reference, Aeneas from, well, the Aeneid, is compared to Apollo and that’s not necessarily the part I wanted to focus on,” Grantaire continued, the thoughts pouring out of his mouth as soon as they entered his mind, “Aeneas is, as you know on a journey to rebuild his fatherland, Troy. And you remember that he had been cast ashore near Carthage, and the whole story with Queen Dido?”</p><p>“Well, yes,” Enjolras assented, brow furrowing as he recollected the tragic tale, and slowly beginning to realize the significance, “Grantaire, why do you mention this?”</p><p>“To put it bluntly,” Grantaire started, voice hoarse with latent tears, “Aeneas had to make a choice. Between amor and pietas, as would be said in Latin. Love versus piety. A companion versus Patria, a term I need not translate for you."</p><p>Grantaire took a shuddering breath and turned his gaze away, the watery film of tears growing thick. </p><p>"If, or rather when, you choose the Revolution," Grantaire explained bitterly, voice sharp with resigned sarcasm, "I plead with you to tell me sooner than later. I need some time to prepare my sword and pyre after all."</p><p>"Grantaire!" Enjolras exclaimed, drawing the man's gaze back to his own. Enjolras gasped at the look in Grantaire's eyes. That of a martyr, all too glad to submit to death, yet still primally fearful of the final blow. Enjolras could feel his heart shatter as Grantaire bared his neck to the figurative guillotine, the pulley's rope held taut in Enjolras's own fist.</p><p>"Do not worry so much, darling Apollo," Grantaire scolded jovially, his smile far removed from his eyes, "I would never put my filthy blood on your hands. You need not feel any guilt for choosing--"</p><p>"Grantaire, listen to me,” Enjolras cut in, “I fight to protect our future. I want this country to be a place where we can live without the suffering and humiliation we have faced for so long.”</p><p>He caressed Grantaire’s cheek and smiled weakly, ice blue eyes melting in adoration.</p><p>“But I would let this nation fall to flaming shreds,” Enjolras vowed, “I would rather it all burn in hell if the alternative was to lose you.”</p><p>“Are your words as true as they are sweet?” Grantaire inquired, voice small, yet bright with hope. Enjolras tilted Grantaire’s chin up and kissed him with worshipful love.</p><p>“Could you taste the veracity on my lips?” Enjolras asked, smirking at Grantaire's flustered whine. Grantaire laughed softly and ran his fingers through Enjolras’ blond curls. </p><p>“Only a hint of it,” Grantaire retorted with a joking grin, “Perhaps you ought to try that again?”</p><p>“So be it,” Enjolras, “I’ll continue till all you can taste--”</p><p>He kissed the artist once more, pulling away with a bite at Grantaire’s plush lower lip. </p><p>“Is my love for you.”</p><p>And with that last word, Enjolras pulled Grantaire close, peppering him with kisses till he turned pink from laughter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lol if I had any talent in art I would draw 'Body Painted Enjolras in a French Flag', but I am not Grantaire and have no talent in painting.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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